Nocturnal Interlude
by Hat-Wearing Creep
Summary: The dead of night has crept over the Highwind. Vincent contemplates Lucrecia and his involvement with AVALANCHE.


Nocturnal Interlude

* * *

**Disclaimer:** FFVII, Vincent Valentine, the Highwind, et cetera are © Squaresoft/ Square-Enix. No infringement on this copyright is intended.

* * *

Inspiration comes in a variety of ways. My epiphany reached me as I lay in the barracks of the airship; what was known to me as "home" for quite some time. I was curled as if I were a fetus, facing the bare wall that was cast in shadow on my small, sheetless bed, occasionally looking up at the top bunk above me where Cid Highwind was snoring so loud it sounded like a behemoth had the flu up there. Across from us, another bunk bed contained Tifa on the bottom and Yuffie above her. I knew Tifa was not asleep. She shifted restlessly in silence, and she cast a few burgundy glances at me when she thought I would not notice her. 

Strife was asleep in his wooden chair by the window, but he was not snoring, so I think I am the only one who noticed he was dozing away. Barrett was out on deck keeping watch until midnight, and then I would probably volunteer myself in silence so that Strife was not awakened for his turn. I don't trust him as far as I can hurl an adult chocobo. If Lucrecia's son truly held his icy grip on Strife's mind and will, I could not trust him even if I wanted to.

...I personally believed that parking the airship for the night was a foolish idea, and I am certain that Highwind did as well, but there we were, sleeping on the ship in the woods when a town was only twenty miles farther. I am still unsure of why we take our orders from a twenty-one year old kid with a severe identity crisis and a sword the size of his penile inadequacy complex. I believe that we should be more democratic in the way we go about things, so that everyone gets a chance to voice their thoughts. Of course I can scarcely speak very coherently myself, but the others deserve to all come to agreement instead of Choco-head running the show.

I heaved a sigh, I'm not certain whether or not it was audible, but Tifa did not glance over, so I suppose it did not break the quiet, even though I thought so.

After having my revenge upon Hojo, I still felt entirely empty-hearted and just as useless if not more as before. What's more, I don't think that Lucrecia will rest easy until Sephiroth, or whatever he has become, is dead. So, all I actually accomplished was tallying up yet another sin on my sheet that is already stained with blood and tears.

I constantly wonder why I did not murder them all in the basement and return to my torpor of nightmares. I could have slumbered through even the fiery armageddon of Meteor and arose in the afterlife. But no. I emerged with a sliver of hope, only to bring more emptiness and absence of purpose and sin to myself, thereby destroying the hope that drew me out of the dark in the first place. Now, that is what I would call ironic, but anyone else would probably call pathetic. I certainly could care less; I'm not looking for hand-outs. Something jerked me into the realm of the living.

"Vincent...? Pssst..." I heard a tiny whisper.

I turned my alabaster face to gaze miserably toward Tifa, whose burgundy eyes gleamed with urgency. She looked in my eyes before a veil of ebon slid across my face. I raised a dark eyebrow and more hair fell to cover my features. She sighed softly, attempting to grasp words to express what it was she'd uttered my name for. But I knew. I knew she wanted a friend. A friend who was awake, that she could have a softly whispered conversation with, who she could laugh with early in the morning while waiting for the only shower in the inn to be free. A friend she could "hang out" with while everyone was doing "their own thing", and she could get up with in the night and sip tea with until the blue light of dawn and breakfast crept in when she couldn't sleep. But I said nothing. I blinked and waited. She seemed relieved with my patience as I lay with my head turned toward her, awaiting more words.

"..I can't sleep a wink, can you..?" she uttered nervously. I could have rolled my eyes and turned my head back around. But, I didn't. I made no acknowledgement but a blink, and rolled over to face her. My red cloak draped over my body and hid all but my bony fingers, which were clinging to the cape. Then, it happened.

"...I'm so sad about Aerith, Vincent...and about Cloud. I don't even know who he is anymore. I'm just following him around with a bunch of strangers. -Oh, no offense - and Barrett's pretty distant these days too..." Tifa whispered to me, her arms folded across her chest to close the robe that covered her pajamas.

She gushed out to me and told me everything that I never wanted to know. While it should've struck me as humorous, I don't really have much of a sense of humor any longer, and I could do nothing but listen to her as she muttered softly to the only person- or I should say people, to account for my demons- she knew was available: me.

I was rather confused by the idea that she was pouring her heart out to me - not only am I a stranger, but I can not believe that she assumed I actually cared about her and the others. I'm not a particularly cruel man, but I don't fancy myself a kind one either, and I was held into attention by the amusing presumption that not only did Tifa trust me, but she considered me ... a friend. Or at least an acquaintance close enough to feel comfortable speaking to about personal issues.

Instead of laughing at Tifa and moving her to tears, I exercised my right to remain silent. That had always been my favorite, even in my young and impetuous Turk days. A knockout smile, black bangs in my face, freezing green eyes and a gun in my hand. I was an oxymoron..trained to perfection, yet still an imbecile.

Tifa whispered to me for what felt like days, and I did nothing. She was confident I was indeed listening, with my attention fixed on her. Tifa is, and always will be, a silly girl.

Finally she stopped, and there was a long, tense silence. I had my eyes fixed upon her, and she was looking at me, though she had trouble meeting my gaze.

I thought- well, hesitated - a very long while. She offered me a gentle, hopeful smile, and my breath got caught in my throat. Something in Tifa's action reminded me of..._Her_. I could've choked and gagged on the tears I was desperately fighting back with what little masculinity I possess. I think she saw the moist gleam on my eyes.

_ I am only a worthless, aged relic form the beginning of a tale no one will ever want to remember. I am simply a dust-coated, rusty antique now, who once had the opportunity for a long and useful existence, but tossed it all away with a diamond ring. I am out of place; and my very being upsets the normal course of things..._, I thought.

My only useful objective now is to destroy Sephiroth and send him into Her incorporeal arms, so that She can be without suffering. I caused Her so much grief that the least I could do is give Her back Her son.

Becoming a gossiping hen and probably throwing the rest of my dignity and manhood out the window all in order to comfort Miss Lockhart seemed out of the question. Furthermore, I knew she deserved much better than a wretch like me for a companion, even in a friendly manner. I would not become a part of the AVALANCHE collective; their goals and reasons were altogether separate from mine. I would maintain my business-like behavior, and whether I wanted to or not, I could not become attached to any of them. After my task was complete I would return to my torpor. My punishment for doing such terrible and inexcusable things in my past. Past...is all I am.

I decided, as my epiphany crashed down upon me, that I could not bring myself to interact with - to harm - anyone else while I was alive. If I am even still considered such.

"I apologize, Miss Lockhart..." I began in my quiet, wavery voice, "but I can not be the companion you deserve." Tifa looked upon me with more shock and hurt than I had ever seen her express before. "...Good-night..," I added. Her eyes poured hot tears mercilessly down her face, and I realized I had probably made another mistake while trying to be helpful. The only sounds I heard for probably ten more minutes were her muffled sobs. I think I shed a tear, but then again, I always feel like I'm crying.

"Thank you for listening, Vincent." a quiet voice murmured. I glanced at Tifa as kind as I could manage, though I've forgotten how exactly to smile, or even what my kindest expression looks like, and I rolled over to face my favorite patch of wall again.

It really is unfair, I suppose...preferring your own company to that of others; preferring to hurt someone just barely enough to let you be. However, my very existence is unwavering evidence that life...just isn't fair.


End file.
